by Mara Wells
“He’s watching that ridiculous baby shark video again.” Sherry placed the plastic plate on Oliver’s high chair tray. “Can’t you hear it?”
Carrie couldn’t hear it, perhaps because it was on so much she’d learned to tune it out. She braced herself against the cabinet, back to her mother. Why had she accepted another date? What was the urgency that had pushed her to agree? That had her scrolling the dating app feed at long red lights and obsessing over the zing factor? Maybe she needed to say it out loud, even if her mother didn’t deserve the confidence. She should say the words so she could hear what they sounded like outside her own head.
“I want a partner.” She took a deep breath and turned to face her mom. “I’m so tired of being alone.” Ouch, they sounded bad, those words. Needy and pathetic, two things she’d spent her entire childhood training herself not to be. But she was so tired, and it had felt good last night to come home to an adult, to sit on the couch and talk about things that mattered to her. That person couldn’t be Lance, but didn’t she deserve someone to build a life with?
“Oh, baby, you’re not alone.” Sherry held a fork over her heart. “I’m here as much as you need me.”
“Except when you’re not.” Carrie didn’t need to remind her mother about canceling on her or the distant but still painful past. It hung in the air between them. Carrie could forgive, but forgetting would take a lot longer. Besides, Oliver was Carrie’s responsibility, not her mother’s. Ultimately, Carrie could only truly rely on herself, and that was what motherhood was—total responsibility. Maybe her mother had always been more the grandmotherly type—coming and going as her schedule allowed. Carrie didn’t doubt her mother’s love for Oliver. She wished she’d had the same confidence about her own relationship with Sherry growing up. Better late than never, she supposed. “You need time for your own life, too.”
“So do you.” Sherry’s voice softened with understanding.
Carrie felt her heart cracking, that familiar ache from childhood. She remembered that same tone when she’d come home from fourth grade, crying about no one wanting her on their softball team during PE. Her mother had made them chocolate milkshakes with extra Hershey’s Syrup and signed her up for a softball camp. If Sherry had been all bad, it would be easier to hold a grudge. Sometimes, though, she knew exactly what Carrie needed, and somehow, that hurt worse than the bad times.
A glob of smoothie fell from the ceiling and splatted on the floor between them. Beckham leapt to his self-appointed cleanup task, tail wagging when he looked up at her with pink goo on his nose. Sherry laughed, but for Carrie, it was one thing too many. Tears sprung to her eyes. Really, she was going to cry over a spilt smoothie?
Her mom opened her arms, and Carrie walked into them. Yes, yes, she was going to cry over the smoothie. When she was done, she’d write a kick-ass proposal for the Dorothy, check on Kristin’s apartment, and send plans to Dimitri Orlov for approval before she started ordering things for his restaurants. For now, she let her mom’s soft arms wrap around her in the kind of hug she’d longed for as a child but rarely gotten. Better late than never. It should be their family motto.
* * *
Carrie refluffed the throw pillows on her bed, propping the embroidered wildflowers against her lower back, and straightened her lap desk. One good thing about working from home was how she could stretch out while dealing with her accounts. The second good thing was that Oliver was conked out beside her, arms around his favorite stuffed animal, an orange octopus named Oink, tucked in his armpit. It was late, and she should really put Oliver in his own bed, but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the adorable picture they made.
In fact, she grabbed her phone and snapped a quick couple of pics to send to her mom. Back to work. Reluctantly, she opened her email.
Excalibur Construction in bold, first row. She clicked on it, butterflies in full swarm in her stomach. She’d put together a solid estimate for the Dorothy, but it’d only been a few hours since she’d sent it. And it was Saturday. She knew from experience that in cases with multiple partners on a project, rejections came more quickly than acceptances. It would take all three Donovan brothers to say yes, but only one of them needed to say no. That one was Lance, and even though she’d opened the email, she couldn’t quite bring herself to read it. She hadn’t expected him to look at it until Monday, hadn’t expected an answer for at least a week. To get a response so quickly could not be good.
Lance, never one for lengthy texts or emails, had written ok.
Okay what? Okay, he’d received it? Okay, they were hiring her? What was she supposed to do with an okay? She hated unclear communication. Was it so hard to give actual information?
She picked up her phone and texted him: okay what?
Was that too demanding? Too ex-wifey of her? After the big secret she’d kept from him, did she have the right to get annoyed at him for anything? Ever again? Panicked that she’d turned an “okay, proposal received” into an “okay, I’ll be telling my brothers what a demanding, unreasonable person you are so there’s no way you’ll get our business,” she followed up with one of the pictures she’d taken of Oliver and the dog and added a smiley face for good measure.
His next text was an explosion of confetti and balloons on her screen. Congratulations! flashed in red letters. She exhaled, imagining all those swarming butterflies from her belly releasing into the air, fluttering away like living celebratory confetti. She hadn’t blown it, and the only thing more fun than the idea of digging deeper into the Dorothy’s past and researching the hell out of her time period was the fact that she’d get paid to do it.
Thanks! she texted back and held the phone against her chest. Working with Lance again, long term, was quite a commitment. She remembered the first client they’d landed together, when they were dating and Lance’s construction business was less than a year old. Her boss at the swanky design firm she’d lucked into right after passing her state exam hadn’t wanted such a small account—a woman with a single-proprietor law office who wanted a redesign to make space for her soon-to-graduate granddaughter to join her practice. Carrie’d been thrilled to take on the challenge of a multigenerational work space, and after speaking with the owner and researching similar practices and their layouts, had presented a design that was within budget and required moving only one wall.
Unfortunately, the big contractors her design firm worked with wouldn’t take on such a small job at such a low profit margin. Luckily, she happened to be dating someone who would take on the project, if for no other reason than to please her.
“No problem,” Lance had said when she’d asked him that evening over a sidewalk table outside of Pizza Rustica. He bit into his slice, cheese dripping off the side, and grinned at her.
“Are you sure?” She dabbed the sauce off her chin with a paper napkin. “It won’t be weird, working for me?”
“Working with you.” He held his slice out for her to take a bite. “It’ll be a trial run, but I’m pretty sure we’ll be an amazing team.”
“Only pretty sure?” She rose out of her chair, balancing her hands on the metal table, and leaned into the slice. Instead of going for a bite, though, she stretched all the way across to kiss him.
“Very sure,” he’d whispered as their mouths met, and he’d been right. The old wall came down, the new wall went up, the law office was decorated, and the granddaughter moved in even though she’d only be using the space to study for the bar exam. The owner loved the soft gray palette with pops of yellow for accents. She raved over the improved storage, and weeks later, she called to tell Carrie how much her clients appreciated the rocking guest chairs. Carrie remembered wishing she’d put the call on speakerphone so everyone in the cubicles around her could hear the client call her brilliant.
She wondered now if Lance was hiring her out of nostalgia or maybe pity. Surely not. They were long past the phase where he did any
thing with the effect on her in mind.
Remember Brinkham & Brinkham? She couldn’t resist texting him to test the waters about how he’d come to a decision so quickly, to see if the good memories were resurfacing for him, too. For so long, she’d focused on the end of their marriage, on the big fights and the even scarier days of silence, when they couldn’t exchange a civil word before heading off to their respective jobs. She’d had to hold onto the bad to get through that first year after the divorce, when Oliver growing inside her was a constant reminder that ultimately, she’d been the one to leave. The longer she didn’t tell Lance about the pregnancy, the more she doubled down on those bad memories to justify her choices. Seeing Lance again, watching him press a goodbye kiss on a sleeping Oliver’s forehead last night, reminded her that they’d been a lot more than those bad memories.
Can I call you?
She almost dialed him right then, as eager as she’d been in their first few months of dating to hear his voice. He’d texted pictures of the demo in Kristin’s bathroom, so she hadn’t driven downtown today, hadn’t seen Lance at all, just his thumb where he’d managed to cut off the bottom corner of one of the pictures. Should she call? Maybe video chat? She checked on Oliver, placing her hand on his chest to feel the rise and fall of his breath. Sound asleep and she’d like him to stay that way. Not a good time.
The three dots bounced for a minute, then another, like he was typing and erasing and typing again. She waited impatiently for his response.
Good night.
She waited another moment, hoping for more. Good night, she texted back. Could exes really become friends? For Oliver’s sake, she hoped the answer was yes.
Chapter 15
Fur Haven was already hopping when Lance got LouLou unleashed for her morning run. She beelined for her black Lab buddy, Lady, and a small Chihuahua already running circles around the weaving poles. The dogs didn’t seem to understand the poles. As Riley’d explained to him, owners were supposed to teach the dogs to go in and out of them, like lacing a shoe, but the dogs seemed to mostly enjoy sniffing and then peeing on each pole individually.
Eliza, Lady’s owner, and a young woman he remembered meeting a few times before sat on one of the bone-shaped benches. Eliza lifted a hand to him, and he waved back but didn’t go over. He pulled out his phone, doing some calculations with time and man power to figure out how to get the garage going before Caleb returned. He’d sent his approvals over the weekend, right after he’d told Carrie she’d gotten the interior design job. He’d been on a roll, figuring Caleb couldn’t veto what was already in the works. He didn’t worry about Knox. Spending the next week in close proximity while they finished up Kristin’s bathroom gave him plenty of time to get Knox to see things his way. If Knox didn’t? Well, there was always bribery.
“LouLou keeping you busy?” The young woman surprised him into dropping his phone. Luckily, Fur Haven’s grass was soft and thick, so he wouldn’t be shopping for a new device today. The Apple Store employees knew him by sight; that was how many times he wrecked a phone on the job. He picked up the cell and smiled at her.
“Sydney, right?”
“Yep, Chewy’s mom.” She pointed out the Chihuahua currently chasing LouLou in a loop around the A-frame.
“Right.” Now he remembered seeing her at the Fur Haven grand opening with her tiny dog. “LouLou’s good. We’re getting along fine.”
“If you need a break, let me know. Chewy and LouLou love to hang out, and I’m happy to take her for a few hours.”
It was funny how much he wasn’t tempted by her offer. “Naw, we’ve got our routines now, and it’s only another week until Caleb and Riley are back.”
“Right.” She fiddled with the leash in her hand, clicking the snap. “How’s the renovation going?”
They descended into small talk about construction stuff, a conversation he could have with only half a brain. The unoccupied half of the brain noticed when the dog park gate pinged open. Noticed when Beckham was let off his leash and dashed for LouLou. He tried not to be insulted that LouLou was Beckham’s go-to and not his old pal, Lance. He tried not to notice Carrie’s long legs, outlined so clearly in yoga pants with mesh panels slashed diagonally across her calves or the way her ponytail swung from side to side as she walked toward him, Oliver’s small hand in her larger one.
“Lance!” Oliver let go of his mom to rush forward, slamming into Lance’s leg with the force of a locomotive. Lance pretended to fall sideways, and Oliver laughed.
“Hey.” Carrie looked from him to Sydney, so he introduced the two women.
Carrie was oddly formal, holding out her hand to shake. Sydney took it, saying, “Your Jack Russell is adorable. You’ve been here a few times before, right?”
Carrie agreed, and they got into a discussion about the neighborhood. After a few moments, Sydney excused herself and returned to Eliza on the bench. He supposed he’d have to introduce Carrie to the older woman, too, but he selfishly wanted a few minutes with her.
“You came back.” He switched his phone from one hand to the other, suddenly nervous without the buffer of another human between them. “When you didn’t come by over the weekend, I thought you’d move on to new territory.”
“You invited us.” Carrie was still formal, still stiff. Her eyes darted to the bench and back to him again. “So what’s her rating?”
“What? I don’t rate women. What kind of Neanderthal do you think I am?” he huffed out in pretend indignation.
“Zero to zing?”
Oh, that. He shrugged a shoulder. “I wasn’t thinking of her like that.”
“So a zero?” Carrie visibly loosened up, her smile turning up in wattage.
Sydney was not exactly a zero, but she wasn’t a zinger, either, at least not to him, so he nodded his head.
“Okay then.” Carrie kept her eyes on Oliver, who was intent on catching a dog, any dog. The mutts clearly thought this little human was hysterical, letting him get close enough that he might be able to touch them before dashing off again. Beckham leaped straight into the air whenever Oli got in touching distance. Sydney and Eliza laughed at the antics. “That should tire everyone out.”
“Is that your life’s mission? Tire out the kid and the dog so you can get a good night’s sleep?”
Carrie held up a hand to shade her eyes while she kept a lookout on Oliver. “It sounds so mercenary when you put it like that, but yes. Especially on days like today.”
“What’s wrong with today? Is Oliver okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. It’s just my mom. She was supposed to take them for the day, but she has a virus. A cold, maybe? She tried to tough it out yesterday, but when I got home, she was knocked out on my bed, and Oli and Beckham were neck deep in a bag of flour. An inside-out bag of flour.” She handed over her phone so he could see the short video of Oliver covered in a thick layer of flour and laughing while Beckham licked his face clean. “I’m on my own.”
Lance angled his body toward Carrie. “You’re sure Sherry’s ill?” He didn’t mean to sound skeptical, and he’d certainly heard the evidence for himself when he’d placed his SOS call to her on Friday night. But back in the early days of their marriage, he’d learned the Burns’ family code for hangover, and he didn’t like the idea that Sherry might be slipping into her old ways.
“Yeah, she was in a bad way yesterday.” Carrie blew out a sharp breath, seeming to know what he was truly worried about. “She’s so proud of her stack of AA chips that I don’t worry about that anymore. I’m planning to drop by her place later with some Theraflu, make sure it’s not something more serious.”
“That’s kind of you.” After all her mother had put her through, how could Carrie ever trust their son with her? Lance felt anger rising, filling his chest, and he wanted to snap at Carrie to make her understand the seriousness.
But she beat him to it. “She
’s so much better, you know? Like the mom I wished so hard for every time I blew out my birthday candles. But I have to keep an eagle eye on her because she will not do to Oliver what she did to me.”
Carrie’s fierceness surprised him. Her whole body tensed as if ready to fight. He’d always admired her ambition, her drive, her seemingly endless amounts of energy. He’d seen her pull all-nighters to impress her boss or land a new client. He’d never seen her like this, though, fierce as a mockingbird protecting its nest, bombing random cyclists who dared ride under her tree.
“I know.” He wanted to reach for her, cup her cheek, and tease her about being a mama bear or, rather, bird. Not yet, he knew. Everything between them was so tentative as they figured each other out. Again. Too bad for him he was finding more to admire about her now than he had when they met eight years ago. “You’re a good mother.”
“Thanks, that means a lot. Considering.” She turned on the bench, tucking her foot under so that her knee angled toward him. Only half an inch separated it from his thigh. He studied that distance like a superhero contemplating a rooftop jump.
Her knee bounced, a nervous habit he used to curb by entwining their legs and kissing her senseless. Which was so not an option anymore, so really, the flood of adrenaline was completely unnecessary, only serving to make him as jittery as she seemed to be.
Carrie palmed her knee, straightened her elbow, and stilled her knee. “Beckham I could leave alone for a few hours, but I’m afraid Oliver will be tagging along to work with me today.”
“Client meetings?” He needed to stop looking at her leg. He didn’t because that slice of mesh gave him a glimpse of the vulnerable, and he remembered, the ticklish skin of her inner knee. “No.” She shook her head, and her shiny ponytail bounced against her shoulder. “Thank God, no. Just checking in on a few ongoing projects. Kristin’s included. You know how you can’t let contractors make their own decorating decisions.”
